


Eastern Oak and Western Pearls

by SOABA



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Babies Grown in a Garden, Battle of Five Armies Fix-It, Bilbo Baggins Destroys the One Ring, Drama, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Dwobbits, F/M, Families of Choice, Gold Sickness, Hobbit Culture & Customs, M/M, Mpreg, Post-Battle of Five Armies, Thorin Is an Idiot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-04-28 20:49:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5105249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SOABA/pseuds/SOABA
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It takes time for Oaks to grow into their majesty, time for pearls to come into their beauty. Sometimes, it takes even longer to truly forgive.</p><p>Twenty five years after the Battle of the Five Armies, Bilbo is hiding away in a secret Hobbit sanctuary, raising the half-Dwarven children that Yavanna and Mahal blessed him with in the most extraordinary of ways. Thorin is ruling Erebor, trying to raise the half-Hobbit son he ripped from Bilbo's arms in the height of his gold-madness. </p><p>A new evil is rising in Isengard and it will take a broken family coming together to see it defeated, once and for all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Prologue:

He was in a garden; the most beautiful that he had ever seen. Flowers of every color he knew, and quite a few that he did not, bloomed all around him. The air was filled with the scents of mint and sweet thyme. Surrounding the flowers were berry bushes of every kind, behind these were fruit trees, and behind those were tall oaks and maples and pines.

In the very center was a small lake. Its surface was as smooth as glass and its water was so clear that Bilbo could see straight to the bottom, where yellow and black gemstones formed an ornate sunflower mosaic. Bilbo had always feared water, but somehow he knew that even if he were to sink to the very bottom of this lake, he would not drown.

“Bilbo Baggins.”

Bilbo turned to see a tall woman smiling widely at him. She sported a peculiar, but incredibly beautiful, mix of rose red and emerald green curls that flowed all the way to her feet, laughing golden eyes, and a long, willowy dress made entirely of woven grass and flowers.

Bilbo immediately sunk to his knees in supplication, “Lady Yavanna.”

“Rise my dear one,” Yavanna said kindly and Bilbo rose to discover that she had shrunk to his height, “Oh, how brave you have been, my child. How proud I am of you.”

“I was afraid,” Bilbo confessed to her, “The whole time.”

“Yes,” Yavanna agreed, “Only a fool would not have been. But still you pressed on into the very heart of Mordor and destroyed two evils at once. The Ring and the Arkenstone.”

“So it was evil,” Bilbo murmured, “I thought it was, but few others agreed.”

“The Arkenstone was created by Sauron,” a new voice spoke.

Bilbo looked to his left and was greeted by the sight of a dwarf with thick black hair and a beard so long he had wound it around his waist several times before tucking it into his gleaming mithril belt.

Mahal had come.

“My Lord,” Bilbo choked out in shock.

Mahal bowed his head to him, “You have done my people a great service, son of my wife, in destroying the Arkenstone. Sauron hid it away in Erebor as part of his plot to bring a dragon South. Another dragon would have eventually been drawn from the North had the Arkenstone endured.”

“Erebor is safe then?”

“That,” Mahal answered Bilbo, “Now depends entirely on Thorin Oakenshield.”

Bilbo flinched at the name.

“My son has done you great harm,” Mahal spoke, “He will regret it.”

Bilbo inhaled sharply, “You won’t… you won’t hurt him. Please don’t.”

Mahal considered Bilbo for a moment, “He does not deserve your concern, but for your sake, Oakenshield shall live.”

“Thank you,” Bilbo breathed.

“Your heart is pure and strong, Bilbo Baggins. I have a gift for you,” Yavanna announced, pressing her delicate hands together so tightly that they glowed for a moment before opening them to reveal a seed of oak.

The acorn was made of glittering gold, with tiny veins of bright mithril shot through it, and it practically throbbed with magic.

“Plant it in a place of safety,” Yavanna instructed, placing it in his Bilbo’s hand and closing his fingers securely around it, “And guard what grows. For what this seed shall bring into the world will shape the fate of Arda.”

“I will, My Lady,” Bilbo promised and then dared to ask, “I’m never going to see my son again, am I?”

Yavanna cupped his face and placed a gentle kiss on his nose, “The future is never set in stone, little one, remember that.”

Bilbo rose from his bed as the sun began to rise, turning the White City golden as its rays touched the stone that formed it and clutched in his right palm was the acorn. He was healed enough, Bilbo decided, it was time to depart from Gondor and take leave of his friends there. The Valar had given him a task and Bilbo would see it done, come hell or high water.


	2. Chapter One

**_Chapter One_ **

_The babe in his arms was the most beautiful creature that Bilbo had ever seen. He already sported thick tufts of ebony hair that would one day be as long and as rich as his father’s. He had the Durin nose and face and ears, but his eyes, the lovely blue-green orbs that darted around as if to catalogue everything that they saw, those were Bilbo’s. Proof that Hobbit blood ran through the babe’s veins as surely as Dwarven blood did._

_Bilbo had carried this precious child within his belly for seven long months; two months beyond the length of time that a Hobbit would normally bear a fauntling, and three months shy of the ten that dwarrowdams endured to produce a dwarfling. Labor had finally begun early on the twenty-seventh of April. The birth had been long and bloody and Bilbo had at one point feared that he would not have the strength to bring his son into the world, but, by the Grace of Yavanna, he had been able to carry on._

_And the babe he now cradled, placed into his arms by Óin, was worth every moment of pain and heartache and fear that Bilbo had experienced since Gandalf had come into life with talk of adventure and dragons, and with thirteen exasperating dwarrows on his coattails too. Worth even the reality that Bilbo’s people would renounce him the moment that they discovered he had borne a child, that they would execute him, if given half a chance, for so blatantly exposing the Shire’s most desperate secret._

_Not that they would ever get the chance, for Bilbo doubted that he would ever again see anything outside of Erebor, lest it be through his tiny, barred window that only presented him with a view of rocks and a bit of sunlight, let alone the rolling hills and little rivers of his homeland. Bilbo was glad that he’d possessed the foresight to send his Will back West to both the Thain of the Shire and to the head of the Baggins’ Clan, while coughing and sneezing in Laketown months earlier, explicitly leaving Bag End in the care of the only cousin he liked, Drogo Baggins, and his newlywed wife, Primula, or the sanctuary crafted by Bungo for Belladonna would surely have been torn apart by some of Bilbo’s more unsavory relations by now._

_But Bilbo could not find the will to be concerned about any of that now._

_His father had once told him that the love a parent had for their child could not be overshadowed by any other kind of devotion. It was selfless and pure and indomitable. Bilbo, then only a faunt of seventeen, hadn’t understood Bungo Baggins’ words at the time, but he did now._

_Bilbo would do anything for his baby, would give his life, gladly even, for the sake of his son._

_“You are perfect, dear heart,” Bilbo murmured, pressing a kiss upon his son’s brow, “Absolutely perfect in every way.”_

_The babe smiled up at him, as if in understanding._

_The door to Bilbo’s cell flew open with a resounding bang and the baby began to cry in alarm._

_“Thorin, you scared him,” Bilbo scolded, “You can’t be so loud. His ears are very sensitive right now.”_

_“Give him to me,” Thorin ordered, “Now, Burglar.”_

_Bilbo’s heart froze over as comprehension dawned, and he clutched their son to his breast as tightly as he dared, “No, please don’t, please, Thorin.”_

_Thorin moved quickly, wrapping one large hand around Bilbo’s throat and wrenching their son out of Bilbo’s arms with the other. The babe began to scream, but Thorin ignored him, throwing Bilbo against the far wall._

_“Thorin, don’t do this,” Bilbo begged, not daring to rise from his knees, “Please, don’t take him from me!”_

_“You will never set eyes on my son again, traitor,” Thorin swore viciously, before turning on his heel and marching out with their son, slamming the heavy cell door closed behind him._

_“No! Thorin!” Bilbo raced to the door, pounding on it with all the strength he had, beating against the rough stone until his fists began to bleed, “Bring him back, Thorin! Please!”_

_Bilbo sank to the ground, weeping in unmatched misery, “Come back.”_

Bilbo woke with a start, his face cooled by the tears that had trailed down it as he slept. He rose immediately, pulling on a thin, red dressing gown, not bothering to tie it closed, and exited his bedroom on tiptoe into the connecting nursery where thirteen of his children were slumbering peacefully, lost in wondrous dreams.

Bilbo moved around their beds silently, straightening blankets and retucking favorite toys into the arms that they had fallen from, grimacing a bit as he placed Grim’s, a stuffed dragon that strongly resembled Smaug, back into the crook of his son’s arm. The blasted toy had been a birthday gift from Gandalf four years prior and Grim was never without it.

A bemused sigh escaped Bilbo’s lips when he realized that Lilli, his eldest daughter, was clutching one of her arrows in her sleep. He gently pried it out of her fingers and set it on her dresser. A frown followed its loss and so Bilbo gently stroked his little archer’s fiery curls for a bit to chase it away.

Din and Cera were curled up together in the former’s bed and Kam’s head was where his feet should have been, but this was nothing new or alarming. Assured that all was well with his little ones, Bilbo left the nursery and headed downstairs to fix himself a cup of liberally doctored tea. He wasn’t surprised to find Gandalf waiting for him in the kitchen, puffing on his pipe.

“Unpleasant dreams?” Gandalf inquired mildly.

Bilbo shrugged and filled his copper kettle with water, “Nothing that I haven’t dealt with before.”

“He’ll be twenty today,” Gandalf remarked.

“I know,” Bilbo replied softly, “I could never forget.”

“Aragorn’s offer still stands, you know,” Gandalf said, “One word from you would be all that he needs.”

Bilbo huffed, “I won’t have Aragorn start a war for my sake, Gandalf, no matter how desperately I want my son back.”

“As you wish,” Gandalf acquiesced.

“Will you… will you distract my children today?” Bilbo asked then, “I… I need…”

“Of course, my old friend,” Gandalf reached over to place a comforting hand on Bilbo’s shoulder, “Of course. I believe that I’ll stay until the triplets’ birthday next month. I promised them fireworks, you see.”

“They’ll be right chuffed about that,” Bilbo’s smile was grateful, if a little watery, “They’ll be getting their own rooms, you know, sixteen is an important milestone for fauntlings.”

“Yes, I’m aware,” Gandalf nodded, “And I’ve brought them presents too, which I’m sure shall scandalize your neighbors and utterly delight the children.”

Amusement bubbled up inside Bilbo despite the day, “It won’t be long before they label you a ‘Disturber of the Peace’ here too.”

“It’s my life’s goal to be considered such everywhere I go,” Gandalf declared, “Things are much more entertaining that way.”

True to Gandalf’s word, Bilbo’s fauntlings were kept entertained from the moment they rose until the moment they fell asleep to stories from the wizard about kings and quests and elves.

Bilbo spent the day trying not to fall apart.

He allowed himself this. This one day a year where he mourned the loss of his son without reservation. Every other day of the year he buried his grief as deeply as possible and lived for the rest of his remarkable children. But this day, this day was for Thrainin.

He knew his son’s name only because of the kindness of Fíli and Kíli, who had finally tired of waiting for their uncle to come to their senses and had taken matters regarding Bilbo into their own hands. They’d drugged his guards and smuggled him out of Erebor and into the care of the Prince of Mirkwood. They’d given him back his sword and the Ring and then, to Bilbo’s shock, had placed into Bilbo’s care the Arkenstone, begging him to take it far away from the Lonely Mountain.

Bilbo had done them one better. He’d tossed that wretched stone into the fires of Mount Doom directly following the Ring.

History would report that Bilbo had braved the flames of Mordor to save all of Arda, but the truth was that he had done it for his son. For Thrainin. He would not condone his baby living in a world where Sauron reigned, so the Ring simply had to go. Saving everyone else, except the orcs of course, had merely been a side effect, but Bilbo was hailed for it regardless.

Bilbo, as he did every year on Thrainin’s birthday, wrote his son a letter. He imagined sending the letters he had composed over the years to Erebor, but feared that Thrainin would not even get the chance to see them before they were destroyed. The letter went into a sealed envelope, which in turn was placed in the dresser drawer beside Bilbo’s bed.

If he then spent the rest of the day curled up in his bed, weeping sporadically, well, that was his prerogative.

************************************************************************

“Sire!” Dori rushed into Thorin’s study without bothering to knock, looking as frazzled as Thorin had ever seen him. Which was saying something, because Thorin had been present to witness Dori’s behavior on the day that his baby brother was wed to Dwalin. Everyone had been a bit frightened of Dori that day.

“What’s wrong, Dori?” Thorin asked, only mildly concerned despite Dori’s demeanor.

“It’s the Prince, Sire. He’s destroyed all of his boots! Every single pair!” Dori cried, “He has no shoes to wear. None!”

Fíli and Kíli, standing only a few feet away from their uncle, began snickering as Thorin stared at Dori in bewilderment. The overgrown dwarflings were quickly silenced by their mother thwacking them over their heads.

“Ow!” Kíli protested, “Amad!”

“Can no new ones be made in time for the feast?” Dís, Mahal bless her, asked in a calm voice.

“No one can get close enough to Prince Thrainin to measure him for new ones,” Dori wrung his hands nervously, “He’s managed to perch himself atop the statue of King Thrór and refuses to come down! And Nori, well, he’s refusing to let anyone go up after the Prince to get him down.”

Thorin felt a headache coming on.

It wasn’t that Nori was disloyal. Oh no, he was extremely loyal, to a fault even… _to Thrainin_. Nori had made it perfectly clear when he’d returned to Erebor, after a year-long absence, that he’d only come back to protect the son of Bilbo Baggins. Honor amongst thieves and burglars.

Nori’s attitude had finally created a solid fissure in the Company that had been long coming. Nori, Bofur, Bifur, Bombur, Óin, Fíli, and Kíli served Thorin for the sake of the Crown Prince. Balin, Dwalin, Ori, Dori, and Glóin served their King for Thorin’s own sake. Thorin did not trust the latter group more than the former, for it was not a matter of no longer having their loyalty or love, but of no longer having their respect. Oh, they respected their King, but not the dwarf underneath the crown.

Thorin only had himself to blame for this.

It had gotten better, over the years, as he time and again proved that the gold-sickness no longer plagued him, but Thorin knew that the Company would never truly be whole again unless Bilbo returned to knit them back together. He’d been the heart of them, and none of them had truly realized it until it was far too late.

Thorin had accepted Nori’s behavior and had been, many times, grateful for Nori’s fealty to Thray, because it had saved the boy’s life on several occasions. On other days, like today, it could prove to be a great nuisance, because Nori would take Thray’s side in whatever fit the boy was having and Thray would see his favorite uncle’s approval as justification for his actions, no matter how childish.

“Do you want me to handle it?” Dís asked, because she could, sometimes, get Erebor’s Spymaster to listen to her.

“No, I’ll go,” Thorin told her, “It’s my attention that Thray wants, and that’s what he’ll get.”

Dís, Fíli, and Kíli followed him and Dori, regardless, to the Gallery of the Kings where, true to Dori’s word, Thrainin was sitting on top of his great-grandfather’s stone head. He was munching on a tart and held a new toy in his hand, which meant that the Brothers Ur were apparently content to just wait this tantrum out, and was swinging his bare feet defiantly. The rest of the Company and about three dozen other dwarves were at the statue’s base, watching Thray with varying degrees of concern.

Thorin took a moment to be grateful that he had vetoed the idea of fifty-foot statues when it had been presented to him by those on his Lower Council. Twenty-five feet was clearly high enough, too high really, and the moment that Thray was safely back on the ground, Thorin was going to order all the statues dismantled. He’d have them recommissioned at five feet apiece.

“Hello,” Thray greeted when he saw them, with a frown on his face and narrowed eyes.

“What in the name of Mahal are you doing up there, Thrainin?” Thorin demanded of his son, crossing his arms across his chest, “And what possessed you to destroy your shoes?”

Thray looked supremely unimpressed by his father’s irritation and declared, “I won’t wear shoes ever again.”

“Come now, laddie,” Balin spoke, “A proper dwarven prince cannot run around without his boots.”

“But I’m not a proper dwarf, am I? Thray challenged, “Since I’m half _Hobbit_.”

Thorin’s breath caught in his throat.

“You lied to me!” Thray addressed Thorin, “You said that my mother died when I was born, but I’ve never had a mother at all!”

“Thrainin,” Nori asked urgently, “Who told you-”

“No one told me!” Thray wailed, “I read it in the library, in the histories. I have a Hobbit Papa not a mother and father tried to kill him over a stupid rock!”

There was a very long moment of stunned silence.

Thorin finally found the strength to break it, “I’m sorry that I lied to you, Thray, I shouldn’t have. I wanted to wait until you were a bit older to tell you… I’m sorry. I promise that I’ll tell you everything that you wish to know, and you don’t have to wear shoes if you don’t want to, but you need to come down from there first.”

Thray considered him for a minute before finally nodding. Nori was up the statue in a flash and pulled Thray into his arms to carry him back down.

“I’m so sorry,” Ori whispered to Thorin, “I thought that he was reading fairy tales this morning. He usually stays far away from the history section.”

“It’s not your fault, Ori,” Thorin sighed, “This would have happened sooner or later.”

So followed the most painful conversation that Thorin had ever endured. Thrainin had been ruthless in his quest for information about what had transpired between Thorin and Bilbo and had been absolutely devastated to learn the whole truth regarding what his father had done to his papa.

The birthday feast was canceled that evening, for Thray locked himself in his bedroom and refused to come out or to speak to anyone. It was a fortnight before Thray could look Thorin in the eye and another week passed before Thray finally spoke to him again.

“Do you miss him?”

Thorin knelt beside his son, “I miss him more every single day. I would gladly give away every single coin in the treasury if it meant I could see him again, if it meant that I could bring him home to you.”

“If he knew that you were sorry, would he come back?” Thray asked.

“He would come back for you,” Thorin replied, “He loves you, Thray, never doubt that. He loves you.”

************************************************************************

**_Nearly Five Years Later_ **

_My dear Bilbo,_

_I deeply regret that I shall be quite late in visiting you this year. The White City is preparing for a battle against Saruman’s Urak-Hai and I must remain until this threat has been eradicated._

_You need not fear for any of your friends here, for the risk to their lives is quite minimal, I assure you. Saruman must truly be desperate to send so paltry a force to march on Gondor. I send with this letter the affections of King Aragorn, Queen Arwen, Lords Boromir and Faramir, Prince Legolas, Gimli, and the Lady Éowyn who all miss you dearly._

_Give my love to the children and know that I shall come to visit as soon as my task in Gondor is done as I quite miss scandalizing your neighbors._

_Be safe, my old friend,_

_Gandalf the Grey_

“Papa!” Lilli cried out, “We’re home!”

Bilbo quickly put Gandalf’s letter away and stood to receive his children. They were all soaking wet, and had wide grins on their faces.

Mimzy and Rosia immediately rushed to hug him, unconcerned about the fact that they were dripping all over the place.

“Hello, there,” Bilbo greeted, “Have a nice swim?”

“We saw dolphins!” Baz announced happily.

“And we brought you more sea stones!” Din revealed.

“Blue ones!” Bobbin piped up.

His children emptied their pockets and, sure enough, there were dozens of fat, blue pearls in the color tones of violet and ice and every shade in between.

The first time that his children returned home from an afternoon spent swimming in the sea, their pockets laden with large, beautiful pearls, Bilbo was quite astonished, to say the very least. This surprise quickly gave way to concern as his fauntlings continued to bring home dozens of the precious orbs, in a vast array of colors, every single time that they went swimming for the next month. Despite his severe dislike of water, Bilbo resolved to go with them on their next excursion to the water.

Their choice of swimming place was hardly unique, for there were many other children and adults also enjoying the lagoon that his little ones favored. They were also not the only ones diving for oysters, but they _were_ the only ones who found something more than a quick snack within the shells. With Bilbo’s realization that his children had an uncanny predilection for selecting only the oysters that contained the most precious of ocean treasures, also came the surety that keeping his children’s ability a secret was of paramount importance.

Pearls were a rarity and were nearly as valuable as mithril, especially in the eyes of dwarves. Bilbo knew that his children would not remain in the sanctuary of the Grotto forever, as much as he might wish that they would, and if word got around that his children had access to pearls, well, there would be many, Bilbo was certain, who would not hesitate to force his children to use their gift for the sake of their own greed. Better to teach them to keep the sea-gems a secret now rather than later.

So, that evening, in between supper and bedtime stories, Bilbo secured a promise from his fauntlings that they would never tell another sole about the ocean treasures that Mahal had chosen to grace them with. Fortunately for Bilbo’s peace of mind, his children easily made such a promise, for they had little interest in flaunting the pearls among the Hobbits of the Grotto. No, they much preferred to bring the gems straight home to their papa, and for him to croon over them.

“They’re beautiful,” Bilbo praised, “I love them, darlings, thank you.”

After Supper, Bilbo would split the pearls up between the thirteen small, oaken chests that he kept for his children. He wasn’t sure why Mahal insisted upon them having the pearls, on top of the mithril laden weapons and the magically-growing mithril shirts and the solid emerald acorns they’d been blessed with, but there must have been a reason and so Bilbo made sure that they were safely tucked away.

Bilbo carefully piled them on his desk and then suggested, “How about we take Tea in the garden? And then we can go out to Fob Field for weapons practice.”

The children quickly gathered up all the supplies for Tea from the kitchen, leaving little puddles everywhere, and carried them outside. Bilbo quickly mopped up the water and then joined his fauntlings outdoors.

Predictably, they had chosen to take Tea beneath the shadow of the Oak.

It was tall and beautiful and appeared to be much older than it actually was. Mithril shot up its thick trunk from the roots and its leaves were golden instead of green. Yavanna’s acorn had grown into this majestic tree in less than a year’s time after Bilbo had planted it.

He had never dreamed of what grow along with it.

Thirteen strong, beautiful children had crawled up from the roots over the next two decades. First Frerin, Finnian, and Trystalilli. Baztian came three years later. Kamrian two years after that. Liridin and Lonicera came together and two years had barely passed by before Isengrim, Delphine, Isembold, and Dracaena popped up from their root-beds. Mimosa and Ambrosia had arrived last, seven years past.

Bilbo had always known that another child was coming, except for the very first time, because the golden leaves would turn into mithril and emerald acorns would begin to grow. These always fell a few hours after the child, or children, had come. The acorns were placed in the oak chests with the pearls, and the mithril leaves had on each occasion knitted themselves together to form long-sleeved, high-necked shirts that grew along with the faunts. Bilbo didn’t let them go anywhere without wearing them.

A few feet to the left of the Oak, was a giant nest that housed a beautiful Eagle with red feathers and a black beak. Her name was Alanwé and she was Lilli’s most attentive guardian. Lilli had rescued Alanwé when she was but a chick, albeit quite a large one. They did not know what had become of Alanwé’s parents, but the bird of prey had grown swiftly under Lilli’s care and was fiercely loyal to Bilbo’s eldest daughter. At one point, Alanwé had even fought off a shark for Lilli.

The rest of the garden was filled with mostly vegetables and herbs, although there were a few rose bushes by the windows that looked into Bilbo’s library. Bilbo’s tomatoes were the best of the lot and had won as many prizes here as they had in the Shire.

Tea had barely ended and the dishes used were still on their drying racks, when a series of frantic knocks were heard from the front of the house.

“It’s Mister Holdo, Papa,” Cera said with a faraway look in her purple-hued eyes, “He has news from Thain Jengo.”

Bilbo went to his front door and opened it, letting Holdo inside.

“Ah, Lord Underhill,” Holdo said in relief, “The Thain needs to speak to you right away. He’s received some urgent news from the hawks.”

“I’ll go down right away,” Bilbo replied, grabbing his green coat, “Would you mind sitting with my fauntlings until I return, Holdo?”

“Of course, Lord Underhill,” Holdo agreed easily, “We can all play conkers.”

“Thank you, Holdo,” Bilbo replied, “I’ll be back soon, my darlings, hopefully soon enough to practice. Be good for Mister Holdo.”

After receiving assurances that they would all behave, which Bilbo took with a grain of salt as his children were the epitome of mischief, Bilbo made his way down the carved, winding path that led to the short road to Rosídelle.

Lord Underhill.

When Gandalf had first led Bilbo to the Grotto, he’d introduced Bilbo to the Thain using the made-up honorific. Bilbo had tried to correct this, to no avail. The other Hobbits, especially once they realized that Bilbo was in fact quite wealthy, thanks to Aragorn and a certain troll hoard, took to calling him My Lord or Lord Underhill like ducks to water.

The Thain had seen Bilbo’s knowledge of the world outside of the Grotto as a blessing and often called Bilbo down from his house in the cliff to Rosídelle to get his opinion about things.

Bilbo entered the town, passing the market place and some of the shops. He waved to Bruno Mogg as he went by the tailor’s shop. Bruno waved back, one hand resting on his pregnant belly.

The Thain’s home was in the dead center of the town and it was here that Bilbo made for, barely having to knock on the sea-green door before it was opened wide for him by Jengo himself.

“Lord Underhill,” Jengo greeted, “Thank you for coming so promptly. Please come into my study so that we can talk.”

************************************************************************

“So, basically, there are orcs heading toward the Shire, only a few days away, in fact, and all of the Dúnedain Rangers are too far away to be of any help,” Bilbo summed up.

“That is what Kastra has told me,” Jengo nodded, stroking the white hawk’s feathers, “So now a decision must be made.”

“A decision?” Bilbo inquired.

“About whether or not I should bother to warn them,” Jengo sighed, “They would never warn us, if the situations were reversed.”

“If we stoop to their level,” Bilbo said evenly, “Then we’ll be no better than they are.”

“True, very true. I’ll send word to the Thain of the Shire,” Jengo decided, “Advising him to order an evacuation.”

And that was really all Jengo could do. There were no warriors in the Grotto, the only one who ever seen battle at all was Bilbo himself. Bilbo may not have been as skilled most other fighters, but that did not mean he could sit idly by and do nothing. Drogo and Primula and their young son, Frodo, were in danger and they likely wouldn’t even know it until the orcs knocked upon the door to Bag End.

“Thain Jengo,” Bilbo said after a minute of deliberation, “Would your daughter and her wife be available to look after my faunts for a week or two?”

“Well, certainly,” Jengo replied, “But where do you mean to go, Lord Underhill?”

“The Shire,” Bilbo replied, making Jengo start in shock, “The Thain there is my uncle and I know him well enough to know that he will never order the people to go. I have family in Hobbiton that I can convince to leave with me. I know that going back is a risk, but I must.”

Jengo’s gaze was both horrified and full of admiration, “I would beg you to reconsider, Lord Underhill, but I fear that I would be unable to sway you. Be cautious, please, My Lord, for your children’s sake if not your own. The Hobbits of the Shire will surely kill you if they catch you.”

“I will be,” Bilbo assured, “And it is no easy task, catching me, and keeping me is even harder.”


	3. Chapter Two

**_Chapter Two_ **

The Shire looked exactly the same as it had the last time that Bilbo had seen it, on the day that he ran out of his door, without even a pocket handkerchief to his name, to join a mad quest to slay a dragon. The rolling hills were green and the little rivers were babbling happily. The first flowers of spring were blooming, dotting the ground with lovely patches of purple and white.

To the outside world, the Shire was a haven of safety and cheer and good food, its people kind and happy, if rather isolated. For Bilbo, the Shire had become a place that he could very well meet his untimely death in. He had to be clever and careful to avoid such.

Bilbo waited until dusk at the edge of the forest he had once played in as a fauntling and then used every skill that had gotten him through Mordor to reach the back door of Bag End unseen. He knocked on it, hoping that Drogo and Primula were not hosting any guests on this evening.

It was Drogo who responded to Bilbo’s knocking, and his mouth fell open in shock when Bilbo pushed back the hood of his green cloak.

“Hello, Drogo.”

“Come inside, cousin,” Drogo insisted, as soon as the surprise had worn off, “And quickly. Primula!”

Primula rounded a corner just as Drogo had closed the back door firmly behind Bilbo, “Bilbo Baggins!”

“Hello, Prim,” Bilbo said, “It’s lovely to see you again.”

Primula had not the time to respond before a young fauntling with black curls and sky-blue eyes came barreling toward them, stopping just short of slamming into her.

“Who are you?” Frodo questioned as soon as he caught sight of Bilbo, his head tilted in curiosity.

“This is your Uncle Bilbo, Frodo,” Drogo introduced.

Frodo’s eyes lit up, “You sent me my book of pictures last Yule! I love them; the Stone Trolls are my favoritest.”

“I am so very glad to meet you, Frodo,” Bilbo greeted, “Your father and mother’s letters have not done you justice. You are quite a fine young man.”

Frodo beamed at him, puffing his chest out at the compliment. Bilbo knew in that moment that he had made the right decision in coming here, no matter what happened.

“Frodo,” Primula cautioned then, “You must not tell anyone that your uncle is here. Promise me that you will not.”

“I won’t,” Frodo assured easily, “It’s a secret, like my picture book is. I won’t tell, Mumma, I promise.”

“Why _have_ you come?” Drogo asked, “Not that I am not glad to finally have solid proof that you are well, Bilbo, but… you know how dangerous coming back here is for you.”

“I know, and I would not have returned if it were not a matter of urgency,” Bilbo responded, “I’m afraid that I have very bad news, indeed.”

************************************************************************

“We have to warn as many as we can,” Drogo declared, “But we must do so in a manner that does not risk your life, Bilbo.”

“I can compose a letter,” Bilbo decided after a moment's deliberation, “And sign it ‘Lord Underhill’. You can take it around Hobbiton and show it to as many as possible. Go to the natural gossips first, they will ensure that everyone knows of the threat.”

“I’ll fetch you parchment and ink,” Primula said.

“What shall you write?” Drogo inquired.

“The truth,” Bilbo stated simply.

“You never said in any of your letters,” Primula mentioned later, after the letter had been penned and the ink on it was drying, as she passed Bilbo a cup of steaming raspberry tea, “This dwarf you bore a son for, did you love him?”

“Very much,” Bilbo admitted, “I married him, Prim, in the traditions of his people and was willing to stay at his side forever. I had no intentions of returning to the Shire, even before I realized that I was with child. If things had gone differently… I never would have left Erebor.”

“I’m so sorry,” Prim whispered, “I can’t even imagine being parted from my Frodo, I think that it would kill me.”

“The Valar gave me the strength to keep going. And then I had my other children to care for,” Bilbo said, “I will not say that it has not been painful, because it has been, excruciatingly so at times, but I could not spend my entire life wallowing in misery and fear. I have to hope that his instinct to safeguard Thrainin has overridden Thorin’s gold-madness and that, one day, I’ll get to see my son again.”

************************************************************************

“I’m bored,” Thrainin announced from his place in front of Thorin on their black horse, “How much longer?”

“We’ll be there soon enough,” Thorin said for the fourth time that evening, “We’ll be there by tomorrow afternoon at the latest.”

Thrainin sighed, “Can we play ‘I Spy’?”

“Absolutely not,” Dwalin responded from the right before Thorin could, “We’re never playin’ that game again. Ya can’t select a specific blade of grass as what ya spy.”

“Well, how was I supposed to know?” Thray demanded, “Nobody told me that I couldn’t.”

“How about a game of riddles?” Balin suggested from the left.

Thray looked at his oldest uncle dubiously.

“As I recall,” Balin said, “Your Papa was quite fond of the game. He even played riddles with Smaug, if you can imagine.”

Thray’s eyes widened in delight, “Really? How do you play?

“Well, I’ll put forth to you a riddle of my choosing,” Balin explained, “And you’ll try to answer it. If you answer correctly, then you get to give me a riddle.”

“Okay,” Thray agreed eagerly, “Go ahead, then.”

Balin cleared his throat, “I go around in circles, but always straight ahead. I never complain, no matter where I am led.”

Thray settled back against Thorin to puzzle out Balin’s riddle.

A moment later, a loud squawk sounded and Thorin looked up to see Roäc darting toward the dwarven caravan. Thorin raised an arm and the Chief Raven of Erebor landed upon it.

“There are fifty orcs marching toward the Shire,” Roäc told Thorin without needing to be prompted, “They will reach its borders in four days time.”

Thorin’s eyes widened. Even a fraction of that number could decimate the Shire.

Thray inhaled sharply, “Oh no!”

“They will not reach the Shire,” Thorin assured his son immediately, “Fifty orcs is nothing to us. We shall divert our course and meet the orcs head on. Balin, fall back and inform the rest of the Company and Dáin.”

Balin nodded and immediately slowed his pony.

“Can I help fight the orcs?” Thray asked.

“ _No_ ,” Thorin quickly answered, “You will be staying with Nori’s Shadow Shields. And don’t you dare even think about giving them the slip, Thray, you’re in enough trouble already, _Inùdoy.”_

“Yes, Father,” Thray replied, “Why would orcs try to attack the Shire? I thought that there wasn’t any kind of treasure there.”

“Orcs are not always after gold or gems, Thray,” Thorin explained, “Sometimes they simply want to pillage and destroy and bring fear. I’m afraid that this is the case here.”

************************************************************************

Primula set out as early as she could the next morning to spread the message in the letter from Lord Underhill around Hobbiton, Bywater, and Michel Delving. By the next morning, it had reached Tuckborough, Buckland, Hardbottle, Long Cleeve, and Needlehole and by that evening, everyone in the South and Eastfarthings knew the letter’s contents too.

The panic of the people forced the Thain to call meetings in every major town of the Shire. He came himself to Hobbiton the following afternoon and Drogo and Primula left Frodo in Bilbo’s care to attend the summit.

Bilbo and Frodo were engaged in an epic battle for a magical forest when Drogo and Primula returned to Bag End less than an hour later. Primula laughed at the sight of the two of them fighting off an imaginary sorcerer for a few minutes before sending Frodo to wash up for Supper.

“How did the meeting go?” Bilbo asked, once Frodo had run off to take his bath.

“The Thain has finally deigned to admit that Orcs are heading toward us,” Drogo spoke with a bit of irritation, “But I’m quite sure he only did so because Prim so diligently spread your letter around. He also told everyone that there has been a recent development regarding the situation that will save us all.”

“Apparently, there are dwarves just outside the borders of the Shire,” Primula revealed, “Ereborian Dwarves. It appears that they mean to fight off the orcs.”

“Thank the Valar for that,” Bilbo replied, surprised but not ungrateful, “It appears that I did not need to come after all.”

“We are glad to see you,” Drogo told him, “You have been missed, cousin. And you and Frodo finally got to meet. I only wish that you could stay without fear.”

“Perhaps you should remain here in Bag End until the dwarves depart,” Primula suggested, “There are rumors that the King Under the Mountain is among their number.”

“Thorin?” Bilbo asked in astonishment.

“They call him Oakenshield,” Primula said, “And Sire. It has to be him.”

Why would Thorin bother to stand between the Shire and a band of orcs? If he was after a reward then he would be disappointed. The Thain would offer him nothing and there was no treasure to be found in the Shire regardless. If Thorin was defending the Hobbits because he felt that it was what was right… well, that would wonderful. And hard for Bilbo to believe.

“I do believe that is a wise idea, Prim,” Bilbo agreed, “Thank you.”

“There’s no need for any kind of thanks, Bilbo,” Primula returned, “This shall always be your home too no matter what anyone else has to say about it.”

************************************************************************

Word reached Bag End the next afternoon that the orcs had been thoroughly trounced by the dwarves of Erebor. The news had been delivered by a very smug Lobelia, who apparently had not become any kinder with time or motherhood, and who Primula had sent away as soon as she possibly could.

“Do you think that the King will demand to see the Thain?” Prim wondered as she fried fish for Luncheon.

“I’m not sure,” Bilbo answered, “There’s every chance that Thorin will deem it beneath him. He might expect the Thain to come to him, but then again, he might not expect anything at all.”

“The Thain would never willingly go into a dwarven encampment,” Drogo commented as he set the table, “He may be a Took, but he has none of the courage of one.”

Without warning, the door to Bag End was flung open, and the kitchen was invaded by over a dozen hobbits before Bilbo could even think to conceal himself. Two tall Hobbits that Bilbo recognized as Otho Sackville-Baggins and his brother, Sotho, seized Bilbo’s forearms, holding him in place.

Two more Hobbits entered the smial, stopping in the doorway of the kitchen.

Fortinbras Took, the Thain of the Shire had come to Bag End.

“I told you!” Lobelia Sackville-Baggins crowed from behind him, “I told you that Bilbo Baggins had returned. Drogo and Primula have been covering up his presence in Bag End for days! I spied him through the window.”

“Is this true?” Fortinbras demanded.

“Bilbo came back to warn us, Thain Bras,” Drogo answered, “To warn us about the orcs. He only meant to help us.”

“He helped spread unwarranted panic throughout the entire Shire,” Fortinbras snapped back.

“He was trying to save us!” Primula protested, “How could he have known that the dwarves would come?”

“He knew the consequences of returning here,” Fortinbras returned, “Bind his hands and take him to the courthouse.”

Bilbo didn’t struggle as they lashed his hands behind him with thick twine, nor as they marched him toward the center of Hobbiton, past basically the entire population of the town. Many sneered at him and glared, but there were some, like the Gamgees, who looked on in horror and sorrow.

Frodo ran out in front of the group, “Let him go!”

Sotho shoved Frodo to the side, into the arms of Bell Gamgee, who shot Sotho a furious look. Bilbo saw the Gamgee’s young son, Samwise, take Frodo’s hand to comfort the other fauntling.

It wasn’t long before Bilbo found himself looking up at Fortinbras in the courthouse. Otho and Sotho released his arms and stepped back, but Bilbo’s hands were still tied and he was still completely surrounded. He wouldn’t get far at all if he tried to run.

Fortinbras raised Sting up for everyone to see, “This was found amongst your belongings. Why would you carry such a thing?”

“The Wildes can be dangerous,” Bilbo responded, “That sword has saved my life and the lives of others on several occasions.”

Fortinbras snorted and shoved Sting to the side, “Do you understand why you are here, Bilbo Baggins?”

“I’m here, because I dared to go against the law of the Shire and did not kill the child growing in my belly the moment I perceived his existence,” Bilbo replied coldly.

“You are here,” Fortinbras disagreed, “Because you violated our most sacred law by having relations with a dwarf and becoming pregnant with his child. A Dwarf King no less! You could not have exposed our secret more blatantly if you’d tried! Dwarves, Elves, and Men alike now know of what we have so carefully kept hidden all these years. We are in more danger than we have been in hundreds of years and the only one to blame for that is _you_!”

It seemed as if everyone began murmuring in agreement.

“Here now,” Laura Baggins, Bilbo’s grandmother suddenly spoke up, quieting everyone else, “It may not be fair to blame him, Fortinbras. True, it was foolish of him to run off on an adventure, but he got that wanderlust from _your_ side of the family, thank you very much. It is no secret to any of us that the one known as Thorin Oakenshield went mad. He could very well have forced himself on my grandson, your nephew, and made him carry the child. Did Bilbo not abandon it after it was born?”

Bilbo flinched at his grandmother’s words and then realized that Fortinbras was watching him carefully.

“Is this possible?” the Thain demanded.

Bilbo knew what his grandmother wanted him to say and he could not blame her for what she had suggested. He was all that she had left of her own son. But he could not lie about this.

“While it is true that the King Under the Mountain did succumb to gold-sickness and imprisoned me within his kingdom,” Bilbo spoke, well aware that he was sealing his fate as he did, “Thorin Oakenshield never raped me. I went to his bed willingly every single time and married him without reservation. Had circumstances been different, I would have proudly given him as many children as he wished. Because you are _wrong,_ all of you, to believe that there could be anything wrong or unnatural about a gift given to us by our Mother, by Yavanna. The Men and Dwarves and Elves of Arda have known for nearly twenty-five years that Hobbit males can bear children and not once have our people been attacked over it. Things have changed, the world is so different from what it was before, and the time has come for _us_ to change as well.”

A stunned silence followed his little speech.

Fortinbras snarled at him, “How dare you! Our laws have kept us alive for centuries and will protect us for centuries still. The truth about us will be forgotten in time, as it always has been, but you, Bilbo Baggins, shall not live to witness such. This very afternoon you shall be sealed within the Shadow Cavern until death comes to you. Get him out of my sight!”

  * _Inùdoy- Son_




	4. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, look, I finally updated this, :)

**_Chapter Three_ **

“Your Majesty,” one of the guards, Frítzi, entered Thorin’s tent and announced, “A female Hobbit has entered the camp.”

Startled curiosity bubbled up inside Thorin, driving him to rise from his paperwork immediately. He had not expected the Hobbits to acknowledge the presence of him or his Dwarves until they had entered the Shire; and even then, he anticipated most hiding away in fear. Truthfully, he would not disturb them at all if it were not for Thrainin’s deep desire to see the place where his Papa grew up.

Thorin exited the tent, instructing Thray as he did, “Stay in here.”

The Hobbit Lady, who had thick black curls and robin egg blue eyes, boldly marched right up to Thorin the moment that she caught sight of him, ignoring everyone else.

“And who might you be?” Thorin asked, not unkindly.

“Primula Baggins, Bilbo’s cousin,” she answered bluntly, “I’m here to ask you to save him.”

“Save him?” Thorin was immediately alarmed. He gripped Orcrist’s hilt with his left hand, “Save him from what?”

“Do you love him?” Primula demanded to know, “Because he has not a prayer of surviving if you do not.”

“Yes, I love him,” Thorin replied instantly, “More than my own life. I would do _anything_ for him.”

“Bilbo heard of the Orcs coming toward the Shire and returned here to warn us,” Primula explained hastily, “But despite this, the Thain has ordered his execution. He is being entombed in the Shadow Cavern as we speak. He will not be able to endure even an hour in that cursed place.”

“Take me to him,” Thorin ordered without pause, dread twisting his heart into knots, “ _Now_.”

************************************************************************

The Shadow Cavern was an even darker place than Mordor had been; Bilbo would swear to this if pressed. Created right after the Settling of the Shire, as a way to frighten the younger generations of Hobbits into compliance with the new laws, it was the Shire’s blackest secret. Most of the Hobbits who had handled the Shadow Stones, foul crystals of fear and malice, during the cavern’s construction had perished despite the stringent precautions taken.

Bilbo remembered witnessing a pair of Hobbits, a Bracegirdle and a Proudfoot, being dragged into the Shadow Cavern when he was very young. His parents had tried to shield him from what was going on, but Bilbo had still eventually managed to figure out that the two were being executed for falling in love with one another, that the Bracegirdle had been carrying a child within his belly when he met his death.

Bilbo had been horrified and had endured countless nightmares after the fact, had snuck into his parents’ bed for months to curl up between his momma and papa. The nightmares were nothing compared to the reality of being entombed alive and this time his parents weren’t here to soothe away the fear.

Chaining him down had really been unnecessary. The Shadow Stones were pulsing with purplish-black light, sapping his energy, spirit, and life a bit more with every passing moment. He could not possibly free himself from the tomb, so all the collar around his neck was actually managing to accomplish was that it made his back ache more than the rest of him. The ropes that had been used to pin his hands behind him bit into his wrists, making them burn. Judging by the slickness he could feel, the cords had scraped up against his wrists enough to cause them to bleed as well. In ordinary circumstances, the blood might have proved to be helpful in his desire to free his hands, but these were not ordinary circumstances.

Bilbo tried one last time to yank himself free, losing most of the strength he had left, and failed. Bilbo slumped forward as much as he could, his forehead resting against the large rock that was attached to his collar by a thick chain, and sobbed harshly into his gag.

He was going to die in here.

He was never going to see his children again. His beautiful, strong, brave little ones were waiting in vain for someone who would never be returning home to them. He had failed them. He had failed the Valar too.

_‘Please Yavanna,’_ Bilbo prayed desperately, because prayer was all he had left, _‘Please protect them now that I cannot. Please, Mahal, safeguard their steps wherever they go. Please.’_

Bilbo’s one consolation was that, unlike most who had been executed in this way, he would not have to watch his husband, his One, die beside him. He did not have to face knowing that his death would mean the death of his unborn child as well. Thorin and Thrainin were safe in Erebor, far away from this horrendous insanity.

An enormous crack sounded from outside and then another and Bilbo looked up in time to see the stone door to his prison crumble inward. The sudden light of the sun was blinding and Bilbo instinctively looked down and away to shield his eyes from it. A shadow passed over him and he slowly looked back up to take in a sight that sent strong, unadulterated shock reverberating throughout his person.

Thorin Oakenshield was gazing down at him in absolute horror.

************************************************************************

They had chained Bilbo to the floor of the cavern as if he were an animal and gagged him as well. There was a Mahal-damned _collar_ of iron around his husband’s pale neck, holding him down. Even Thorin, in the height of his gold-madness, had never once considered doing such a degrading thing to anyone, let alone _Bilbo_.

Oh, heads were going to _roll_ for this barbaric injustice.

Thorin rushed to Bilbo’s kneeling form, only vaguely aware of the pulsating black crystals embedded in the walls. Dwalin entered behind him and immediately began to growl in righteous fury. Bilbo’s face was streaked with drying tears and there were more still unshed in his beautiful, blue-green eyes.

There was fear dancing in them as well, but Thorin didn’t have the time to consider whether it was fear of what could have happened or fear of him. Mahal, he fervently hoped it was the former and not the latter; though it would surprise him if the opposite were true, after how cruel Thorin had been to his husband when last they spoke so many years ago.

“I’m going to get you out of this,” Thorin swore, brushing a few errant locks of hair out of his husband’s face, cherishing the feeling of the wild, honey gold curls that Thorin had come to love so much sliding against his fingers, “It’s going to be alright, Bilbo, beloved, I promise.”

Thorin drew out a dagger of pure mithril and made quick work of slicing through the chain with it, as close to the collar as possible. He’d need a key or a lock pick to remove the latter, but it would come off as soon as possible and then Thorin would personally would see it melted down into ash. Carefully, mindful of keeping the blade from nicking Bilbo’s skin, Thorin cut off Bilbo’s gag and flung it away, hard.

“Don’t touch the stones,” Bilbo immediately gasped out, “They’ll kill you!”

“No one’s going to touch them,” Thorin assured, reaching around him to cut away the ropes binding Bilbo’s wrists. They were all but soaked with his husband’s blood, glistening red as Thorin threw them into a far corner, “Your wrists need to be seen by Óin, they’re a mess.”

“I was trying to get away,” Bilbo said faintly, trying and failing to stand up.

Thorin caught him, alarmed by the weakness, “Where else are you injured?”

“Not… injured,” Bilbo’s voice began to die out, “The… the stones…”

And then Bilbo collapsed in Thorin’s arms.

“Bilbo!” Thorin cried, but the Hobbit did not stir.

“We need to get ‘im outta here, Thorin,” Dwalin spoke, “Now.”

Thorin didn’t argue, hooking an arm under Bilbo’s knees and lifting him up. Mahal, had his husband always been so light?

Thorin carried Bilbo out of the cavern, snarling at the Hobbits who were protesting his rescue of Bilbo as fiercely as they could, “I will kill every single one of you if he dies. Do you understand?”

The Hobbits shut up and ran off.

Thorin rushed Bilbo past most of the rest of the Company, who immediately followed after him, not stopping until he had reached his own tent, where Óin and his medical kit was waiting. Nori wasn’t around, which meant that he was surely looking after Thray, who most certainly did not need to see his Papa for the first time in twenty-five years looking like this, pale and diminished and bleeding.

Thorin carefully laid Bilbo down on one of the cots and Óin began fussing over the Hobbit straight away. It only took a few minutes before Óin turned to look at the others gravely.

“What’s wrong with him?” Thorin demanded, his heart already beginning to sink.

“He’s dying,” Óin admitted, “Although I cannot tell you why. His soul is just… fading away.”

“It’s the Shadow Stones,” Primula, and how exactly had she gotten into the Royal Tent without any of them noticing, Thorin wondered wildly, declared, “They’ve drained his life and soul too much.”

“ _Naragzigrel_ ,” Bifur muttered.

“How do we save him?” Thorin begged of her, unable to accept the possibility that Bilbo could not be saved. Thorin could not lose him again, not when he had finally gotten him back.

“Love,” Primula revealed, “Pure love in its most passionate form. That’s why I came to you, Thorin, son of Thrain; you’re the only one who can keep his soul tethered here in Arda now that he’s been exposed to the Stones.”

“Uncle’s got to kiss him?” Kíli questioned incredulously.

“No, well yes, but no, not just kiss him,” Primula explained, blushing heavily and stammering just a bit, “That won’t be nearly enough to save him. You have to make love to him, Your Majesty.”

Every dwarrow in the tent stared at the Hobbit lass with wide eyes and gaping mouths.

“He’s unconscious,” Thorin protested, “He can’t give me his consent. I will _not_ rape him, not even to save his life.”

“He’ll begin responding to you almost immediately,” Primula replied, “By the time that you, um, well, he’ll be perfectly conscious by then. There’s a reason why all the ones who locked Bilbo in that dreadful place were married, they’ll still be with their wives now. It’s the only way to save him, being united fully with his One.”

“Bilbo doesn’t love me,” Thorin managed, with great difficulty, to admit.

“Yes, he does,” Primula contradicted, “He would not still call out for you in his dreams if he did not love you, despite what you’ve done. He refused to renounce you at the farce of a trial he received, even though doing so would have spared his life.”

Hope, the first that he had felt in twenty-five years, began to blossom in Thorin’s chest, a wild, desperate bloom. He turned to his eldest nephew, “Keep everyone, especially Thray, out of here.”

Fíli nodded in understanding, “Yes, _Idad_.”

“I do hope that cautioning you to be careful is unnecessary,” Óin commented mildly, giving Thorin a pointed look as he lifted his satchel onto his shoulder.

“It is,” Thorin agreed.

The others filed out as swiftly as they could, Primula giving Thorin a measuring glance as she exited.

_‘Do not hurt him again,’_ that gaze said, a clear warning.

If she had spoken aloud, Thorin would have answered her with a firm, _‘Never.’_

Thorin moved back to his beloved husband’s side, toeing off his boots. He climbed up beside Bilbo on the cot and gently caressed the Hobbit’s cheek, relieved when Bilbo turned into Thorin’s palm, nuzzling it with his nose. It was a Hobbitish sign of affection, his husband had once told him, more intimate than even kissing, and it warmed Thorin completely to be on the receiving end of it once more; he had not dared to hope, over the years, that he ever would be again.

Thorin leaned over and kissed Bilbo gently; it took only seconds for Bilbo to begin kissing him back. Bilbo opened his eyes, his beautiful aquamarine eyes, and blinked blearily at Thorin.

“ _Ghivashel_ ,” Thorin spoke in an undertone, “You’re safe.”

Bilbo groaned in pain, “Thorin.”

“I need your permission,” Thorin declared urgently, “I will not force myself on you, Bilbo.”

Bilbo’s eyes searched Thorin’s own so intently that Thorin wondered if Bilbo could see to the very heart of him, if Bilbo could perceive how much Thorin loved him, how terribly sorry he was for everything he had done.

Bilbo must have found what he was looking for because he nodded and softly murmured, “You have my permission.”

************************************************************************

Bilbo woke feeling better than he had in two and a half decades.

The memory of Thorin carefully slipping inside of him, behaving with more tenderness than he had even during their first time in Lake-town, when Bilbo had been so unsure of what to do but still utterly determined to give himself completely to the Dwarf that he had fallen irrevocably in love with, was nearly as rejuvenating as the act itself had been. Thorin had diligently mapped every inch of Bilbo’s body with his hands and mouth, trailing gentle kisses across the whole of it and whispering tender endearments into Bilbo's skin in between each one.

And when their love-making had reached its conclusion, Thorin had tucked Bilbo in at his side. He had rubbed circles into the small of Bilbo’s back and hummed Dwarven lullabies until Bilbo, who had been absentmindedly tracing invisible whorls on his husband’s broad chest, had succumbed to his need for proper rest. Despite the horrors of the day, there had been no nightmares.

Thorin still loved him; that Bilbo was alive was irrefutable proof of this. Anything less than true love would have never been enough to save him.

A part of Bilbo, a miniscule part that he had ruthlessly kept buried over the years, had never stopped hoping that Thorin’s love for him was not as banished as the Dwarf had so claimed, during those final dark days in Erebor. This part of him, which had been often overshadowed by the gloom of Bilbo’s doubts and heartbreak but not wholly eradicated, had been fed over the years by the reminders that Thorin, even in the height of his gold-sickness, had been unable to see Bilbo at the mercy of an executioner’s axe, had already been lowering Bilbo back down, that day on the Battlements, before Gandalf had spoken up and given Thorin an excuse to dismiss Bilbo from his sight alive and it now rejoiced at being proved right.

It had been so easy to ignore this part of him before, to convince himself that Thorin despised him. All Bilbo had to do was recall Thorin ripping Thrainin from his arms, despite Bilbo’s desperate pleading, remember the malevolence and avarice in his features as Thorin swore that Bilbo would never set eyes on their child again and dismissing the idea that Thorin could still care at all for him was a simple thing.

Now he knew for certain that the love which had spurred Thorin into marrying him still existed, still burned with an undeniable fervency; and Bilbo could no longer deny, not even to himself, that he still loved Thorin. But was love enough to truly heal them? Had Bilbo forgiven Thorin for what dark things had transpired between them? Had Thorin managed, either through a change of heart or the passage of time, to forgive Bilbo?

For stealing the Arkenstone, twice, perhaps he had. But if Thorin ever discovered what else Bilbo had kept from him… Bilbo doubted that, if such a thing were to come to pass, he would ever see the light of day again.

So Bilbo needed to leave, the sooner the better. The less time he had to spend in Thorin’s presence, the less excruciating the separation would be. His mind set on this course of action, Bilbo tilted his head up to see if Thorin was still asleep and found a pair of sapphire eyes watching him with an ardent intent, and Bilbo’s supposedly firm resolve vanished like smoke in the wind.

“Good morning,” Thorin greeted, his voice a low timbre that made Bilbo shiver, as he brushed a lock of Bilbo’s hair away from his eyes.

Bilbo blushed under the warm and intense scrutiny, “Morning.”

Thorin smiled, “I though that I would never get to see you blush again, _Ghivashel_ ; your whole body goes pink, you know.”

Bilbo’s blush deepened, “Yes, I do know. Did you sleep at all?”

“A bit,” Thorin replied, “After being assured that you really were going to be okay. I watched your body heal; even your wrists look as if they were injured weeks ago and not yesterday. If I were a lesser Dwarf, I’d be bragging far and wide about the magical healing powers of my cock.”

Bilbo sputtered, “ _Thorin_!”

“But since doing so would bother you, I’ll simply have to be smug about it in private.”

“Insufferable Dwarf,” Bilbo huffed, unwillingly amused. “How did you know that I was in trouble?”

“There was a summit held in the Blue Mountains,” Thorin revealed. “Both my cousin, Dáin, and I were invited to attend the official coronation of King Hinnar. We were on our way back when the Ravens traveling with us spotted Orcs heading toward the Shire. We diverted our course to remove this threat. We set up camp and not an hour later your cousin, Primula, came racing into our midst. She told me where to find you and how to save you as well.”

“I do hope that the Thain does not discover that,” Bilbo murmured, “She and Drogo have already risked enough for my sake.”

“I will protect them if it comes to it,” Thorin swore. “You have my word, Bilbo.”

“Thank you,” Bilbo whispered gratefully, blinking back tears.

“Why…” Thorin trailed off briefly before continuing, “Bilbo, why did they put you in that terrible place?”

“I told you, in Lake-town, that, a long time ago, Hobbits were hunted almost to extinction by Men because they found it abhorrent that our males have the ability to carry faunts as easily as our females can,” Bilbo explained tentatively, “Though, I may have neglected to mention that after the Shire was settled, it was declared illegal for a male to lie with another male and become pregnant. Punishable by death.”

“They tried to kill you because you gave birth to our son?” Thorin demanded, furious.

“If my uncle thought he could get away with it,” Bilbo muttered, slipping out of the cot and retrieving his clothes, “He’d try to kill you and Thrainin too.”

“ _What_?”

“I told you that there were things about my people that you would not like,” Bilbo reminded as he pulled his underclothes on, referring to an old conversation, once that had taken place during their stay as the Elvenking’s _guests_.

“Why, exactly, did you decide that this was something I wouldn’t need to know, husband of mine?”

“Because I didn’t believe that it would ever become relevant,” Bilbo answered. “I certainly never intended to come back here.”

Thorin glowered wrathfully at the wall of the tent as he yanked his pants on and then blinked in realization, “You know our son’s name. Did Gandalf tell you?”

Bilbo froze briefly in the act of buttoning his trousers, “Something like that.”

Thorin frowned at him, “Bilbo-”

“Thray, wait!” Kíli’s voice rang out from outside the tent.

Bilbo looked up in time to see a Dwarfling barrel into the tent, followed immediately by Fíli and Kíli.

“Sorry, _Idad_ ,” Fíli panted. “He overheard Dáin say that Bilbo was here and slipped away from us.”

Bilbo’s gaze locked upon the child before him and his breathing grew shallower and shallower as recognition washed over him. The boy had Thorin’s thick, black hair and nose. He wore a thin circlet of silver and sapphires, his clothing was made of fine silks, and he wore no shoes. And his eyes, _Bilbo’s_ eyes, were staring at Bilbo in giddy excitement.

“Papa!” the Dwarfling cried happily.

“ _Thrainin_ ,” Bilbo managed to choke out before collapsing backwards in a dead faint.

************************************************************************

**Translations**

  * _Naragzigrel_ – Great Black Magic
  * _Idad_ – Uncle
  * _Ghivashel_ – Treasure of all Treasures; Beloved



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed!

**Author's Note:**

> You can email me at soabasworld@yahoo.com to ask questions, or send me prompts, or just to chat! Also, I have a tumblr, if you want to check it out, http://soabas-world.tumblr.com/, where I will be posting snippets of upcoming works on occasion. Love you all!
> 
> Fanart for this can be found here: http://soabas-world.tumblr.com/post/149341909614/aesthetic-for-eastern-oak-and-western-pearls


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